


Newt Isn't Bloody Dead

by MorganaGreenleaf



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Fix-It, Minor Original Character(s), Newt - Freeform, Page 250, Page 250 Rewrite, The Death Cure, The Death Cure Spoilers, newt isn't dead, page 250 fix-it, the death cure fix-it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:49:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25925419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganaGreenleaf/pseuds/MorganaGreenleaf
Summary: Newt wasn't dead.It was just a flesh wound.
Kudos: 7





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> I really don't like page 250 so this is my first way of him not being dead

The bullet hit his head, tore through his flesh, and pierced his brain. Faintly, he could hear Thomas crying, but his vision went black, and he slipped onto a coma.

\---

He awoke strapped to a white bed, tubes stuck into the back of his hand, in a circular room with a glass wall and no obvious doorway. There were people, wearing pure white clothing standing outside, watching him, occasionally scribbling down a note on the clipboards they were carrying. 

One of them, a woman with white-blonde hair and a stern look in her eyes, muttered something to the others, who nodded. The woman walked up to the glass and stepped through it like it wasn't even there. She pulled up a chair and sat down beside her.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" Newt asked angrily, "And where the bloody hell am I?"

"Newt, please calm down. You're safe now. We'll take care of you," she said, soothingly. 

"I'll calm down when you tell me where I am!" Newt yelled.

"You'll make yourself ill if you keep shouting. Just calm down, and we'll explain things," she said.

Newt would have kept yelling but he was feeling rather weak, so he lay back and let her talk.

"My name's Portia. I used to work for WICKED. Now I work for FVRU. It stands for Flare Vaccine Research Unit. We broke off from WICKED when their methods got a little too extreme," she explained.

"And why am I here?" Newt asked, "And why didn't Tommy's bullet kill me?"

Portia sighed. "I guess there's no point lying to you. WICKED need Thomas' brain to make the cure. It's a long story, I can explain more later. But as you already know, you were put into the Maze Trials as part of a control group."

"Yeah, so tell me something I don't know," snapped Newt.

"Well, not quite. They were testing three groups, really. The immunes, the control group to compare them against...and you. You're unique, and they decided to chuck you in where you could easily have died. Though they took precautions. When you jumped from the wall, they used their technology to break your fall. Gave Alby a nudge to go find you."

Newt was silent. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Your genes have mutations in them which absorb the virus. The immunes have genetically different brains, which is why the Flare has no effect on them. But it affects you. You've shown all the symptoms of the Flare. But when Thomas shot you, it healed you."

"What?" Newt spluttered, "No! That-that can't be right. It doesn't do that! It doesn't heal people. It kills them."

Portia smiled. "Not you," she said, "The Flare lives inside you."

"Am-am I the cause of all this? Of all these people dying?" Newt asked.

"No!" yelled Portia, hurriedly. "But we can use you to find a cure. We just need to run a few tests." 

Newt remembered how she said she'd worked for WICKED.

"No!" he shrieked, and began pulling madly at his restraints, thrashing about on the bed. Portia sat calmly beside him, watching, waiting until he finally became too exhausted to keep going. He slumped on the bed, defeated.

"I'm not going to do any trials ever again," he whispered.

"I'm not asking you to," said Portia, gently. "Those trials must have been awful."

"You have no bloody idea how awful those trials were," Newt snarled. "I tried to kill myself. It was that bad. And the only reason I didn't attempt it again was because I had to care for the others. Look after them. Give them hope. And make sure they survived. And were as happy as they could possibly be under those circumstances. 

"But it was hell. Every day. The boys, Alby, Minho and Tommy especially, they were what got me through it. But every day, stuck in that awful place, surrounded by the maze, my limp reminding me with every step I took that I couldn't escape-not even by dying. They wouldn't let me. There was no point. No hope. And then Tommy came along and he gave me-us that hope. And we escaped. We thought we'd left it behind. But no. We had to cross that god-forsaken Scorch. And with everything that happened, I didn't think we'd make it. And then I thought it was over once we reached the haven. But no. More trials. Then discovering I could get the Flare. Which meant I probably had it. I was on death row. And I realised I loved them. They'd become my brothers. Tommy and Minho. I had to save them before I succumbed. It moved too fast though, and I didn't want them to see it happen. That's why I pushed them away. And I didn't want to suffer. It destroyed me to ask Tommy to kill me, to put that burden on him. But the other options were worse. And he finally did it. Or thought he did. So don't you ever, ever, talk about the Trials like that. Like it was a slightly miserable holiday. It was hell."

Portia nodded. "I'm sorry, Newt. Truly, I am. You shouldn't have to do this, we shouldn't ask this of you."

"Damn right you shouldn't." Newt said.

"But we need to. The world is at stake. Millions of lives can be saved by this, Newt. We can't put one boy over millions." Her voice hardened. "So we will do these tests, with or without your cooperation. We don't want to do anything to you against your will, but we will if we have to. So please, make it easy for us."

Newt tilted his head. "I've got two more questions for you. And I want the truth." Portia nodded. "What will the tests involve?" he asked, his voice wavering slightly.

"Just a few blood samples, and some neural scans," she said.

"And my second question is, why should I believe a single word that comes out of your mouth? How do I know you're not with WICKED?" 

"You don't," said Portia, simply. "But you don't have a choice. Believe me or don't. These tests will happen."

Newt knew she was at least being honest on the last bit. He was still weak, and had no idea where he was, or the layout of the building, so it would be in his best interests to cooperate. For now, at least.

"Fine," said Newt, scowling, "I'll cooperate."

"Wonderful," said Portia, clapping her hands together. 

She reached over and removed the restraints from his wrists and ankles, then gestured for him to follow her. 

They walked out through the same part of the wall she'd entered through, and he couldn't feel anything there as he passed through. Odd. Pushing it to the back of his mind, he looked around the white halls. There was nothing to indicate where he was. The walls were bare; they didn't even have windows, except for a small grey security camera in each corner. 

He followed Portia out of the room, and down several gleaming white hallways. He tried to remember the route in his head. Right. Right. Left. Straight ahead. Right again. Down two floors. Straight. Left. They entered yet another white room, with another white bed in the centre.

"Lie down," Portia ordered, nodding towards the bed. Newt sighed quietly, and walked over. He lay down cautiously, and Portia smiled reassuringly.

A young man entered the room, wearing pale blue scrubs. 

"Hello, Newt," he said, "I'm Barry. I'll be doing your tests today." Newt nodded. Portia walked up to Barry and whispered in his ear.

"I'll be back in three hours to collect him." Barry nodded, and Portia left the room.

"Alright, Newt, let's get started," said Barry, "I'm just going to start by taking some blood samples." Newt nodded, and Barry sat down on the edge of the bed, and set a silver tray with four syringes resting on it on the bedside table.

"I'm taking a fair bit of blood from you, so you might feel a bit lightheaded when I'm done. But it's nothing to worry about, I promise," Barry said.

Newt nodded, uncertainly. It was for the greater good, he reminded himself. This would help them find a cure-or at least a vaccine. He had to move on from the trials, and also remember these people weren't WICKED. They wanted to be humane. He could trust them.

Barry stuck the needle of the first syringe into the crook of Newt's elbow, causing him to let out a small gasp. Barry pulled the plunger up, and Newt watched as his blood rushed into the body of the syringe. When it was full, Barry put it in a rack, and then repeated the process with the other three syringes.

When he was done, Newt was indeed feeling a little lightheaded, and he lay back on the bed. Barry wiped his arm with an antibacterial wipe, then covered the wound with a small plaster. 

A needle pricked his arm, and Newt sat up quickly, causing the needle to scrape down his arm, drawing blood.

"What is that?" he asked warily.

"It's just a saline," Barry explained, using a cloth to stop the bleeding on Newt's forearm. "Nothing to worry about." He quickly picked the needle up again, and jabbed it into Newt's arm. He pushed the plunger down, forcing the purplish liquid into Newt's bloodstream.

His head began to swim even more, and black spots appeared in his vision.

"What did you-" he started to say, but before he could finish, he slumped backwards and lost consciousness.


	2. II

When he woke, he was in a pitch black room, once again strapped to his bed.

"I should have known," he said-or tried to say. There was a cloth in his mouth, tied at the back of his head, preventing him from talking.

"Ah, you're awake," said a voice. He heard a click, and a lamp flickered on, revealing Portia, sitting cross-legged on a wooden chair. "That's good. I was beginning to worry."

Newt glared at her. "What the hell am I doing down here?", he tried to ask, but the gag made it sound more like "Ahh-mmmhmm."

"A small vigilante group has broken into the compound. We can't have them getting their hands on you. Or you yelling for help. I can take the gag out if you promise not to scream," Portia said. Newt nodded eagerly. Portia stood up, walked over to him, and removed the gag. Newt glared at her, then spat a huge gob of spit at her. She gasped as it hit her pristine skirt, then smacked him across the face. His head snapped the side, and she seemed to instantly regret it.

"Is that the best you've got?" Newt sneered.

"I could kill you right now if I wanted to," said Portia, pulling a small, black gun from her pocket. "But we need you alive to cure the Flare."

Newt glanced at the gun. "The Flare"ll probably just heal me again. And even if it didn't, you not killing me's not much of an incentive for me to cooperate."

Portia frowned. "Our work could cure the world of the Flare. Save millions of lives."

"Could," said Newt. "Might not."

"I know where Thomas is," said Portia.

Newt froze.

"You-you know where Tommy is?" Newt asked, hopefully.

Portia nodded. "He and Minho survived the collapse of WICKED. Ava Paige had a Flat Trans set up, and they managed to make it out with a few hundred other Immunes. The idea was for them to start again, rebuild the human race as all Immunes. They're living in Australia now. We can help you find them, if you like. Once we’ve cured the Flare. If you cooperate.”

“If I cooperate,” Newt whispered. “Fine,” he said, louder.

Portia nodded, and sat back down, listening for the fight above.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tiny weeny baby chapter


End file.
